


I'll Keep the Radio On For You

by ArtemiStorm



Series: Della Duck's Expanded Story [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Cousin Fethry is a Dreamer, Family Estrangement, Five Years Later, Gen, Grief, Kinda, Monologue, Moving On, Spoilers for Season 2, after della duck yeeted into space, ham radio, rustic beach aesthetic, shameless ocean puns, two swear words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemiStorm/pseuds/ArtemiStorm
Summary: Cousin Fethry was the last person on Earth to see Della’s rocket streaking across the sky after it launched. Ever since she was lost, he’s kept diligent vigil, listening to the radio on the frequency Della last transmitted on. But it’s been five years and there’s been nothing but static. Fethry decides it is finally time to move on.OrFethry has a heart-to-heart with Della even though he knows she can’t hear him and never will.
Series: Della Duck's Expanded Story [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813666
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	I'll Keep the Radio On For You

**Author's Note:**

> Didn’t expect this story to take off like it did. Originally, it was going to be a short epilogue scene for another fic, but it ended up being strong enough to stand on its own two webbed feet.
> 
> Theme music (I listened to while writing this) is “Soul Stories 2” album by Gabriel Saban and Anne-Sophie Versnaeyen as well as the songs “Last Goodbye” and “Climbing Mountains” by Future World Music. 
> 
> Definition: A slough (pronounced “sloo”) is a coastal marshy estuary area where ocean saltwater mixes with freshwater from creeks or rivers.
> 
> I do not own Fethry Duck, Della Duck, or any other Ducktales characters.

At first glance, the old rust-red shipping container that rested in the grassy coastal slough might look like some cast off flotsam washed ashore years ago, but it was, in fact, there intentionally. In that clearing in the dune grass along the Ruddy River a solitary dreamer made his home. 

It was a humble homestead. A rope-and-driftwood fence, decorated with ribbon and fabric scraps, bordered the clearing and held back the massive bunches of dune grass. Paths flanked by shells were stomped out in the sandy sod along the river heading in either direction, one toward the city and the other toward the sea. In the corner of the clearing stood a lidded rain barrel that served as a homemade weather station complete with a weathervane, windsock, thermometer, barometer, and a half-filled rain gauge.

Crooked windows and a door were cut into the walls of the container; the windows were lined with pale blue curtains, made of sun-bleached bedsheets and tied back with twine. An old bicycle leaned against the container next to the open driftwood door.

Lit only by two kerosene lamps and a row of beeswax candles, the interior was dim and somewhat smokey. Kites and sea-glass mobiles decorated the ceiling. The walls were covered in charts of currents, clouds and tides, maps, and sketches galore of wind-twisted trees, rock formations, ships, and sea life. A hammock stretched from one side to the other over a row of boxes filled with knick-knacks, clothes, and survival equipment as well as a half-finished painting of a tidepool. Two long tables on either side of the room were completely covered in disassembled appliances, tools, hardware, first aid kit, papers and pencils, shells, sea glass, driftwood scraps, a knot of hemp string, a camp stove, water jug and a ham radio.

Sitting on a homemade stool, Fethry Duck (yes, little-known descendant of Scrooge McDuck) leaned toward the ham radio and grabbed the microphone. He made sure to have nearby a notebook opened to a blank page and a stubby pencil… just in case. He turned the volume dial up on the radio and the faint static sound grew louder until it overpowered the sound of the distant surf. He cleared his throat and mentally rehearsed his thoughts, hesitating, his finger hovering over the transmit button. He took a deep breath and pressed it.

“Cousin Della,” Fethry said. He tapped his pencil on the edge of the table. “I know. It’s been a long time since I tried calling you. Life here in my little world is… kinda timeless. I lose track of the days and the weeks… and the years… Sorry. I haven’t been very good at keeping in contact.” He stopped, noting the irony.

“But if you’re still out there somewhere, wherever you are, if you can hear me, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“I’ve… been offered a job. If you can believe it, at a science research facility. Don’t get too excited, it’s just a janitor/caretaker sort of deal. I know it’s not much, but it’s a start. I think you’ll get a kick out of it though, get this: it’s at the bottom of the ocean.” Fethry laughed.

“I know, you’re probably laughing. ‘Old Cousin Fethry reelly can’t bear to move more than five feet from his beloved ocean!’ You’re probably right. I do love it that much.” 

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of the ocean—although I can’t fathom why…” Fethry glanced up at the sketches on the wall he’d made of various kinds of sea life: anemone, jellyfish, salmon, krill... “Everything about the ocean is just so… wild. Beautiful. Fa-sea-nating! Haha! You sea what I did there?” 

“I guess, now that I’m thinking about it, Donald did hint once that you had some bad experience with fish…? Ah. Never mind. I’m just blabbering. Back to current events.” Fethry scratched the back of his head with the pencil.

“Sooo… anyways… yeah. This means that I’ll be leaving here… this house… the radio…” Fethry released the transmit button and looked out the window to the paling sky over the sea. He took his hat off, ran his hand through his hair, sighed, eyes never moving from that particular corner of the sky. 

“You know,” he said putting his hat back on. “I never told anyone this, but… I think I was probably the last person—ever!—here on Earth to see your rocket.”

“You see, that day, I was on the beach with my binoculars and spotting scope, watching for whales—cuz you know, they migrate every year at around this time… I saw the rocket fly over. I watched it coast away from land and far out to sea, until the little light of the engine disappeared.”

“Now, I didn’t know what it was at the time, I just thought it was a cool jet airplane or maybe a satellite launch or something to that effect. I didn’t know the significance of it until Uncle Scrooge called me a few days later. (I’m really glad he did; usually I’m left out of the loop about… just about everything.) He knows I don’t have a shellphone or anything, so he called on the ham radio… and told me what happened.”

“I did some digging and I found out what radio frequency you last transmitted on. I reconfigured my radio, tuned in to it, and listened. For days I was afraid to leave the radio’s side in case you called. I know it isn’t the soundest of logic, but for some reason, I felt like it was my duty to be here, available and listening, even though I know probably half the world also was. You were the famous missing niece of the World’s Richest Duck after all! No one was gonna miss it if you called.”

“I guess I was trying to be like a lighthouse or something. Standing guard at the edge of the ocean, the last bastion of hope awaiting your return… but I never heard anything except… static. After some time, I began to carry on with my normal everyday life again, you know, observing nature, beachcombing, sketching, tinkering… But I never changed the frequency and I never shut off the radio. And so I’ve monitored this same frequency ever since you disappeared.” Fethry sighed and rubbed his face with his hands.

“But it’s been five years.”

“I… really don’t want to say this… but… I think I have to—I need to! In order to move on, I have to admit…”

“Cousin Della, you are probably dead.”

Fethry wiped his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself.

“They say… that is, the scientists working for Uncle Scrooge at the time, that your ship was most likely destroyed in the storm. When your transmissions cut off… Uncle Scrooge—with Donald and your unhatched eggs at his side—they had witnessed your passing.”

“But no debris was found orbiting the Earth, so they thought maybe instead your ship had crashed back into Earth or maybe the Moon. Uncle Scrooge had many search rockets and a satellite network launched. He scoured the world and the searched the moon, but found nothing. No evidence of you at all.”

“The third and final hypothesis of your fate is that you were catapulted into deep space. They calculate that based on your last known position and velocity, your ship was thrown toward the constellation Cassiopeia… at 620 times the speed of sound.”

“In, um, 92,000 years, give or take, they say you’ll arrive at Shedir, the brightest star in the constellation. But by then… well, they think you probably only lasted a few days in the rocket. And… here on Earth, we’ll all be so long gone that no one would remember our civilization or even our species, let alone you and the rocket.”

“Long story short, nobody knows for sure what happened to you and nobody ever will.”

“People searched for you for years. I think Uncle Scrooge would have never given up, never stopped searching for you—he even wanted to blast into space himself! But an old flame of his stepped in (don’t bother asking, I don’t know who it was). But she talked some sense into him and helped him, you know, let go. (Rumor is that she also stole what little money he had left making it impossible for him to continue his search.) It was only then, when Uncle Scrooge was broke (in every sense of the word) that he finally stopped searching and came to accept your loss. He mourned for a long time and recovered slowly. But eventually, he started carrying on again: drinking tea, golfing, running his business… but he never adventured again and he was never the same.”

“And while Uncle Scrooge clung to hope that you were still alive and out there somewhere for years, Cousin Donald didn’t have the luxury. He had your three boys.”

“They hatched only a few days after your disappearance and needed someone to take care of them. Naturally, Donald stepped in. I don’t know for sure, he doesn’t really talk about his thoughts and feelings much, but I suspect that within a few weeks he accepted that you had died. Eventually though, once you were declared legally dead, he officially became your boys’ guardian—their dad—although I don’t think he can bear to let them call him that. Last I heard, he was working on a tugboat at a marina—but that was a while ago. I don’t hear much at all about him or the boys—I’m afraid that I don’t even know their names!”

“Nobody in our family talks anymore. Donald and Uncle Scrooge haven’t spoken since that day! Donald blames Uncle Scrooge for what happened and won’t forgive him for getting you killed. In retaliation, Uncle Scrooge decided that family is too much trouble, too painful to have. Gladstone’s too busy living the high life to care about anyone else. And me? Well, you know me. I’m the weird one. I live in a shipping container in the slough. Of course, no one cares about me.”

“But I care about everyone else. I miss all of you. I miss the get-togethers, the game nights, the holidays. I miss Donald. We used to get along so well! Now he doesn’t want to talk to anybody who’s even vaguely related to Uncle Scrooge. I miss the opportunity to be an uncle to the boys—not that I’d be a very good one, I’ll admit. And of course, I miss you, your exuberance for life, your wild tales of glorious adventure, your voice and smile and bright eyes…”

“Dam it, Della, you got in that blasted rocket, went off and got yourself lost and it destroyed our family! Dam it, Della! I wish you never designed that rocket and Scrooge never funded it and Gearloose never built it and I wish you’d never laid eyes on it let alone set foot in that cursed Spear! And above all I wish the stars and the moon never even existed for you to dream about because then you’d still be with us and our family would still be family and your boys would have a mom and I would have my friend!”

Fethry sobbed quietly for a few minutes before forcing himself to calm down and regain composure.

“I wish that this had never happened. But it did. And nothing will ever be the same.”

“I’m sorry. This is a hard situation but we’re trying. We’re all trying to make the best of it. I guess my main point with all of this is Donald and the boys moved on, Uncle Scrooge has moved on… it’s high tide that I moved on too.”

“But please, don’t misunderstand, I’m not just moving on; for the first time in my adult life, I’m actually moving forward. And you know what? It’s because of you that I can. And so, I’m not here to blame you. I’m actually here to thank you.”

“Sorry if it came across like I was blaming you, I don’t. Or at least I’m trying not to. Freak cosmic storm? That wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It is just one of those times when bad things happen to good people for no good reason and we just have to deal with it.”

“I don’t know if you ever thought about it, but I’ve always lived in the shadows of you and the other cousins… Cousin Gladstone with his good looks, school smarts, and just plain unbelievably good luck in business… to no one’s surprise, he’s rich now. Donald’s got a career in sailing. He’s got his own houseboat. He’s a dad… I’d say he’s pretty successful, at least as far as I know. And then there’s you. You were always traveling the world, going on epic adventures with Donald and Uncle Scrooge. You’re a successful pilot. You were even an astronaut and lost in space, all before I did anything at all with my life. You three were all out there living life and doing extraordinary things while I’m… not.”

“I know I’m weird. Eccentric. Quirky. I love science and art and I’m not very good at interacting with other people, especially… well… girls (except for you, of course, because you’re family). Growing up, I was an outcast, ignored by teachers, targeted by bullies, and except for our family, I was totally friendless. Even now, I don’t like being around other people outside our family. I’m perfectly happy here living alone outside the city in the sloughs where I don’t have to talk to anybody, where I’m free to do what I love, to observe the beauty and mysteries of nature, to study and draw and paint and tinker and build…”

“I know I can never be normal so I don’t even want to try. Why go to school? Why learn a trade? Why get a job? I can never compare to you and Donald and Gladstone so why try at all? And that’s… why I moved out here after I graduated high school. Here it is safe and comfortable and I don’t have to be someone I’m not.”

“But every Christmas, every family reunion in the summer, sometimes even when I’d come over for game night, you used to try and convince me to ‘get out there,’ you know, get a job, go to school, travel, mingle, even go on adventures with you guys. And as you know, I never wanted to have anything to do with all of that.”

“Well, this one time in particular, you told me that I have passions and talent and I owe it to the world to do something with it. I needed to step out, not just for me, but also for the world. You told me I could be so much more than an amateur artist, tinker, and hermit. ‘Sure, a ship is safest in the harbor,’ you told me, ‘but that’s not what it’s built for.’”

“At the time, I heard your words and I understood them in my head, but not in my heart. And even though I didn’t get it, I didn’t forget it.”

“Since you… departed, I’ve thought about you more, and what you said to me. It’s taken a lot of thinking and soul searching, but I realized, you’re right.”

“I shouldn’t keep wasting my passions and talents on this… small existence. I do owe it to myself, the whole world, and I owe it to you … to go make something of my life. I don’t really know yet exactly what I want to do, but whatever it is, I’m not going to try and be normal or be someone I’m not, I’m going to do this MY way. So long story short, a couple weeks ago, I went and talked to Uncle Scrooge. He graciously set me up with this job, which I start in a couple days.”

“This ship is finally leaving safe harbor and setting sail into the great unknown! I’m moving on to bigger and better things. Because of you. You had faith in me even when I didn’t. And now, because of your wise words, I have faith in myself. Or at least, just enough courage to take the first step.”

“But something is still bothering me. I know in my head you’re probably dead and long gone, but I can’t help but feel in my heart, that you’re not.”

“I keep looking at this radio, then out to sea and up at the sky to the last place I saw your rocket’s glowing misty trail five years ago and thinking ‘Maybe, just maybe! Maybe you are still out there among the stars, alive and hopefully well. Maybe you are out there somewhere, trying to get home. And maybe someday, you will.”

“Even today, I still look to the sky and I still have hope. And I think, knowing my personality (I’m such a dreamer—I’m hopeful to a fault!), I probably will keep looking to the sky and keep having hope forever and ever. Even decades from now, when I’m an old man, I’ll still look at the sky, remember my adventurous Cousin Della, and think ‘Maybe, just maybe!’”

“But what’s bothering me is that if by some miracle, you’re not actually gone, if I leave this radio, it means I’m abandoning my post. If you’re not actually gone, if you’re still out there somewhere, and you are trying to get home, someone really ought to be standing by the radio waiting, listening, keeping watch for your rocket trail on the horizon. But I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place. Should I leave and go seek my fortune in the world like you always wanted me to? Or should I stay and stand guard by the radio waiting for you?”

“This conundrum is what held me back for a long time. But then, one day, I realized two things: #1. You didn’t wait for anybody. And you always said ‘the world waits for no one, so get out there and live life!’ You wouldn’t want me to wait for you. #2. You are so strong, the strongest of the four of us. You’ve never needed anyone else to come save you. I think I’ve just been flattering myself thinking I could do anything to help you get home. I just need to trust you and have faith in you.”

“You always had faith in me, even when it seemed impossible for me to succeed. You had faith in me especially when everything seemed impossible! I think it’s my turn to have faith in you.”

“And so, just in case you do the seemingly impossible and you have survived and are trying to call home, trying to get home, I want this radio on. Even if I’m not here to listen, I want your message to be received somewhere here on Earth. Now, I’m smart, and I might be able to rig up something so that I can still receive your messages even if I’m at the bottom of the ocean. But at first, for a little while, I won’t be around to hear.”

“But maybe somebody will. Maybe someone will be passing through or squatting in my little house and will hear you call. And if all else fails, the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea and Old Man Ocean himself will bear witness to your words.”

“What I mean to say, Cousin Della, is that I’ll always keep the radio on for you. Even if no one else in the world does, I still have hope for your return.”

“The sun is setting now. First thing in the morning I’m departing on a submarine bound for the research station. I’ll be staying in town tonight and I ought to leave before it gets too dark and I can’t see the path. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that even for all my tinkering, I still don’t have a decent flashlight or headlamp.”

“This is exciting—and scary! It’s the start of a new adventure for me. I just wish you were here to see it!”

“Thank you. For believing in me. I’m going to try my best to make you proud.” 

“One last thing, a request: if you are still alive somewhere out there, please come home!”

“I’ll do my part. I’ll figure out some way to hear your call even though I’m in a laboratory at the bottom of the ocean. I’ll do my part and keep a lookout for you. Just please, please do your part and try to come home.” Fethry set down the microphone and released the transmit button.

Fethry collected his knapsack and a box of knick knacks and headed outside. He bungee-strapped the box to the rack on the back of the bike, walked it down to the path. Fethry turned around and looked through the window to the radio on the table, a quiet static sound echoing through the shipping container. He looked out over the ocean. High above the pink rays of the setting sun, in the cool blue of space, a few bright stars and a sliver of the moon glowed.

“Maybe, just maybe!” Fethry said with a smile. Then he turned and rode away through the seagrass.

**Author's Note:**

> We know Della was, in fact, sending transmissions from the Moon. So why didn’t Fethry or anyone receive them? My theory is that Lunaris knew that Della was on the Moon the whole time and blocked her signals so that other Earthers wouldn't hear and come to the Moon.
> 
> ***
> 
> I know, I have scorned the “Woman in the Fridge” trope in other fanfics I’ve written and here I am, using the trope myself.
> 
> Or so it seems. Let me explain.
> 
> The “Woman in the Fridge” trope is when a character (can be either male or female, but most commonly female) is hurt or killed in order to further the plots of the other characters. This trope is notorious for being overused and done poorly, making the story predictable and lack depth. What I HATE is when the victim is an undeveloped female character, whose only purpose in the story is to die, is killed in order to further the plots of the male lead. Such a story WAY overused, disrespectful to women, undermines our equality, and perpetuates the helplessness and shallowness of female characters rampant in media.
> 
> But! Character deaths can be done well without falling into the “Woman in the Fridge” trope, even if their deaths do motivate the other characters to action. A well-done character death (in my opinion) usually has these characteristics:
> 
> 1\. The character in question is well-developed and has their own story arc: Della’s personality and character were well-established as a joyful impetuous adventure-seeker by episode 3, 20 episodes before she even showed face.  
> 2\. The death of the character is in line with their own story arc: Della was an adventurer and explorer, who after thoroughly exploring the world, set her heart on exploring the stars. In line with her personality and story arc, she couldn’t resist the call of adventure and impulsively made choices that resulted in her loss.  
> 3\. The death isn’t used solely to further the plots of the others, but has meaning itself. Della’s loss, didn’t further the plots of the males in the story, it actually is so profoundly devastating that it suppressed them. (if you think about it, there aren’t any DuckTales episodes for ten years after she is lost in space.) When Scrooge, Donald, and the boys finally come together and start moving forward as a family, it is because they found motivation in themselves and each other, not Della’s loss.  
> 4\. The death doesn’t impact the plot and other characters only when it is convenient, but realistically and repeatedly throughout the story: In DuckTales, every couple of episodes, Scrooge, Donald, or one of the boys expresses sadness or otherwise makes a reference to Della, the Spear of Selene, or her loss. After she returned, the family and even Della herself were still dealing with the aftermath of it.
> 
> When a character’s death fulfills these requirements, especially the last one, I call it a “Boromir” trope (the trope might have some other name already, but I don’t know it). If you read all three of the Lord of the Rings books, you’ll see Boromir has a developed past, personality, and his own hopes, dreams, and motivations. His death is in line with his story arc and has rippling effects throughout the rest of the trilogy. This was my first introduction to a well-done character death and now serves as my personal benchmark against which I measure all other character deaths.
> 
> I would classify Della’s loss in DuckTales as a well-done Boromir trope.
> 
> Back to this story I wrote: I know on the surface it looks like I’m using Della’s loss to further Fethry’s plot (and so committing a Woman in the Fridge trope). But because Della’s loss is so well done in the show, what I’m actually doing is describing the impact of her loss on the Duck extended family as well as showing how it affected Fethry’s day to day life for years after the fact (Points 3 and 4). I am attempting to perpetuate the Boromir Trope of Della’s loss.


End file.
